


As My Anger Reigns

by LewdSkitty



Category: Final Fantasy VI, Frozen (2013)
Genre: Character Study Within Adventure, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-03 07:14:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8702698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LewdSkitty/pseuds/LewdSkitty
Summary: As the Queen of Arendelle learns to cope with her growing powers, something dark enters the kingdom. Something that has passed through death and destruction... and sees insane promise in Elsa.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is an idea that I've had for about... three years now? What started as Kingdom Hearts idle musings has turned into a bit of an obsession to get this out in the open for feedback. Speaking of, feel free to provide any kind of critique (constructive is preferred) or comments below. Enjoy!

_Is this what oblivion feels like?_

The presence had to assume that it was as it drifted through the ether between realities. No sense of direction, no sense of purpose or emotion or even self. This wisp, this vague spiritual essence, merely coasted and ebbed along with the unseen current.

_If this is oblivion, it’s incredibly boring._

A few scraps were still left to the presence, pieces and shards of a past life. A life that spanned across every extreme, from a lowly soldier to a magic-commanding deity. It recalled some spurts of emotion: incredible joy, unbridled sadness, insatiable curiosity.

But most of all, it remembered hate.

It was an emotion the presence remembered with such fondness and familiarity that the embers still glowed within its tattered remains. And from what it remembered, there was so very much for it to hate. It hated the way it was used as a pawn and a weapon for so long until it became obsolete and shunted aside for a better model. It hated how the authority it did manage to hold was rebuffed again and again, how it received disrespectful looks and sidelong comments. It hated how at long last, when ultimate power finally came along, in too short a time it was ripped away like everything else.

It hated life, because why live when you would inevitably pass away? 

It hated dreams, because what could your dreams possible create that won’t eventually crumble to ash and ruin? 

It hated hope, because what can hope do, in the end, to bolster you in the face of certain annihilation?

And as it floated in the miasma of shadow and nothingness, buoyed by its hatred and malice, the presence remembered the taste of power again. The scent of magic, and how it trilled through its… _his_ … blood. How he smote any fool who dared to stand in his path, any who dared look at him askance. How he ruled an entire planet and, by his whim alone, whole continents crumbled into the brackish sea and people were disintegrated into dust and smoke and memories.

It was in this state of mind that the presence felt, somewhere along the current, the trill again, the exhilarating, electrical tang of magic. It was faint, but unmistakable. Familiar, yet bold and exciting in a way that put his memories to shame. And within his ruined essence, a sense of longing and intrigue set itself in place.

At the very least, investigating the source was better that floating on these endless astral currents for all eternity.

And so the presence floated with purpose towards the magical signature. He didn’t know how long the journey took, but as he grew closer, things grew sharper and more focused. His memories coalesced into something more solid and tangible. Colors, shapes, _faces_ … they swam with such clarity inside his mind that it nearly blinded him. He could even remember aspects of himself: bright, opulent colors and flowing robes, feathers and beads, rouge and ruffles. He held onto these things as hungrily as he dared, for fear of them blowing away again into the blackness. And always, he drifted closer and closer towards the source of the mysterious magic.

Finally, the presence entered the material reality once again, freed of his time in limbo, and witnessed an unusual sight. 

Figures, both human and otherwise, stood in a glade on a summer night. The humans, two adults and two small girls (one of which seemed to be asleep), listened with rapt attention to the words of a short, gray creature, moss in its hair and feathers in its cape. Several other creatures were in attendance, watching with solemn expressions as their elder continued to pontificate. It waved a stunted hand and dancing lights cavorted and lit up the air in front of them.

The presence swelled and delighted at the display, at the flare of power that warmed his innards and strengthened his weakened form. And yet, the words of the stunted, gray creature still reached him, observing, even though they were directed to the child with pale gold hair:

"…Listen to me, Elsa, your power will only grow. There is beauty in it. But also great danger. You must learn to control it. Fear will be your enemy…"

The presence sneered at the warning, yet could not help but be intrigued. The elder creature’s magic was remarkable, but he could sense a kernel of power within this small child. It was tiny, but it pulsed with potential, the first whispers of a mighty winter gale that signaled a sweeping, violent storm. With that strength, that crushing might, she could destroy _anything._

She could destroy _everything._

He shivered with pleasure at the possibilities.

But deep within his shattered, if healing, essence, he knew that he had to be patient if he were to utilize this force, this beautiful, terrible engine of destruction. The child needs to mature, be nurtured by her negative emotions. And such a cradle could only be made with time and distant coldness. He had to wait, all the while building up his fragile reserves so that when that perfect opportunity came, he would be right there to capitalize. At her most vulnerable, he would tempt her down newer, darker paths. Show her methods of her magic that would bring her to that perfect apex of power: a chaotic storm that would end all life.

As the humans withdrew from the glade, holding the unconscious younger child like a precious babe and keeping his future tool close at hand, the presence reflected that the girl with the storm in her chest… reminded him of someone else. Another girl with power enough to destroy. 

A girl with green hair and the mongrel blood of a god in her veins.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The years passed like leaves in the wind for the presence, who only had eyes for his pet storm. She was progressing wonderfully; her parents, the dunces, had decided isolation was necessary to keep her powers at bay, until she learned to harness them in a controlled environment. 

Fools! The presence could confirm by experience that the more one stifled their powers, the more furious said powers became when (not if, but when) they were finally unleashed. And they had no idea. They never suspected that they were only making the situation worse, and the poor child, on the cusp of womanhood with all those flaring emotions and confusing thoughts, was getting more and more upset and insular as her storm gathered in strength and potency.

And the presence just soaked up the whole spectacle like a sponge.

The death of the parents was truly the icing on the cake for him. It added that extra dash of tragedy that really sent the girl spiraling into further depths of despair and loneliness. Without her caretakers, she was left to herself, unable and unwilling to share what she was hiding to anyone else… especially her dear sister.

The presence hardly gave the disgustingly chipper brat a second thought, so consumed was he with the progress of his traumatized pet. Oh, she came up every so often, knocked on her sister’s door and asked to be let in, or if she could come outside and play. Really, this charade has been going on for so long, the presence lost count of how often she made the attempt to draw her sister out of her icy exile.

And always, his tool spurned her. He could feel the cool fear radiate off of her, the ambient dread only making her storm pulse faster and more angrily than before. He gloated as she curled up within herself, trying to make herself smaller, as if to contain the beast that roared within her, beating at the cage and demanding release.

_How adorable. She thinks she can control it! Uwee hee hee~!_

As if such a thing _should_ be controlled. 

Three years drifted by, each one spent watching the future Queen’s descent. His power grew more and more, his spirit solidifying even as he lacked a physical body to properly interact with the material plane. And then, on the day of her coronation, the presence witnessed the culmination of his efforts defy his expectations. That insipid sister set his pet storm off, causing a blizzard in July, and she ran away into the mountains. From there it was a regular hero’s journey of twists and turns until, at the very end, the bloodthirsty prince denounced her on the frozen lake for killing her sister.

And it was here, the presence knew, that she had reached her lowest point. His time had finally come.

_Your sister is dead, Elsa… Now nothing will hold you back!_

_Be the monster._

_Be the storm!_

_LET’S DESTROY EVERYTHING!_

It was right at that moment of his ultimate triumph, when he just grazed her consciousness, urging her to let loose upon this horrible world with all she had… that victory was snatched away from him yet again. That sister (that pompous, meaningless, unbearable, precocious little wretch!) appeared from out of nowhere. She stopped the falling blade of the prince, and then… froze solid.

And Elsa closed him off, eyes only for her family.

What followed was a blur of saccharine sweetness and honeyed denouement that meant absolutely nothing to the presence, who fumed and seethed and screeched to high heaven at how he was robbed at the eleventh hour. He was so _close!_ He had her right in the crosshairs, and that ginger cow had to go and ruin his plans in the WORST. POSSIBLE. WAY!

A sacrifice… how utterly pathetic! How disgustingly inconsequential! The thought of love being so potent a force made bile rise in his nonexistent throat. Love does not exist! It shouldn’t have this power!

The only reason life exists… is to be destroyed.

And as the presence wallowed and bemoaned his shattered plans, he caught a glimpse of the shamed prince who had attempted to kill the Queen at the end. The one who orchestrated such an elaborate scheme to claim a chair and a hunk of metal on his brow. The one who acted, right until the grand reveal, that he smelled of roses and had the royals eating out of the palm of his hand, drawing their gaze away for him to slide the knife between their ribs.

This boy, this poor soul… he had shattered dreams too. He was just willing to go the extra mile to see them complete.

And as the ship sailed to the Southern Isles with its royal prisoner, the intrigued presence followed.

His plans may have stalled for now, but that was of little consequence. It just meant that he had to take a more _active_ role. From his past life, he remembered that he was no stranger to using people. And it was indescribably simple figuring out what this pup wanted most.

Purpose renewed within his astral form. He was certainly going to get what _he_ wanted most:

That ice witch was going to break the world for him.

One way, or another.


End file.
